In Case of Emergency, Break Rules


Note: This little fic owes its genesis to msmoat, who threw out the idea on her lj some time back of posting some inspiring paragraphs to jump-start people into writing. Months later (I'm slow...), this is one of the results. The first para is entirely hers, but for the fact that I specified the Chilterns and had to reduce the amount of snow slightly to avoid footprint problems later.

Oh, yes: own them? Are you kidding? I wish. I also don't make (nor do I seek to make) any dosh out of toying idly with these figments of my affection.

The moon hung low in the sky, coloured orange, a wisp of cloud across it. There was a scattering of fresh snow on the Chilterns, and moisture in the air. All was still and silent as Bodie guided the Capri slowly along the narrow road. His window was open and he leaned out, hoping to hear something--anything. Doyle's voice for choice. There were tyre tracks on the road, but no way to determine if any of them had been made by Doyle's bike. All he knew was that Doyle had never arrived, and yet he had set out more than two hours ago. Bodie scanned the ditch that ran parallel to the road. He caught his breath each time he saw a dark shape, until he determined it wasn't a bike, wasn't a body, wasn't Doyle. Where in fucking hell could he be? Bodie's stomach was tight, and he hadn't taken an easy breath since he'd started the search.

The wind was blowing in fits and starts as it had been for much of the day, tearing at the last few tatters of foliage on the hawthorn lining the road. Bodie startled as a dark form raced across the road ahead of him, his overanxious gaze creating weird hedgerow creatures for a brief moment until it resolved into a flurry of leaves. His eyes followed them for a second, and his attention was caught by a gate into a field standing half-open - an oddity even to a city boy; even Bodie had had the Green Cross Code and Tufty the Squirrel dinned into him as a child. You Always Shut the Gate. He pulled up for a closer look, and now in the gloom made out tyre tracks leaving the road, crossing the muddy, trampled patch at the gate itself, and vanishing onto the firmer ground inside the field itself. What in hell's name had possessed Doyle to take off across an empty field?

And had it even been Doyle? Still, this was the first thing even remotely out of the ordinary he'd seen since setting out--it had to be worth a closer look. Pulling his coat a little more tightly closed and turning up the collar, Bodie closed the car door quietly behind him and set off across the field, avoiding the mud at the gate as best he could. Might as well ask what had possessed him, wearing decent shoes--and the rest--on an op like this; he was meeting up with Doyle, not out to impress some bird. You could bet your last sov Doyle wouldn't...Bodie stopped abruptly. There, jammed well back into the straggling, overgrown mess of bushes that formed the barrier delimiting the right-hand side of the field, not twenty yards from the gate, was Doyle's bike. Almost invisible unless you were searching for it, thanks to something half-concealing the tell-tale shape and gleam of the handlebars; moving closer Bodie realized that the silly sod had taken his jacket off and used it to cover up the shining chrome he spent so many hours of his precious free time polishing. In this cold, he'd be freezing his nuts off in pretty short order--must be close behind someone, to make it worth his while to shed a layer on a winter's night just to hide the bike's shine in the moonlight. Bodie quickened his pace, scanning the field around him as far as his eyes could pierce the gloom and searching for any sign of Doyle as he made his way up the slight rise towards a horizon almost indistinguishable from the dark sky above it. Despite his worry he couldn't help feeling a kind of joy in the adrenaline buzz, the ready-ready-ready singing through his veins; if Doyle was in trouble, he was here now...reaching out with every sense to find him in the dusk, revelling in spite of himself in the icy, pure cut of the cold air as he breathed it in, smelling of clean earth and clear water. Towards the top of the rise he tried to half-walk, half-crawl as low to the ground as he could without losing speed, and realized too late that while he'd been frantically scanning the farthest reaches of the field for a shape--any shape--in the dark, he'd come unexpectedly to the edge of the firm ground and stumbled headlong into...oh yes, how nice. More mud. The farther side of the field had been ploughed. Bloody lazy bastard of a farmer must've left the job half-done to finish later. Swearing inventively under his breath, Bodie was about to climb to his feet again when he heard something that made him flatten himself back down onto the earth, uncomfortably aware of how close he was to the brow of the slight rise that formed the centre of the field--perfectly placed, in fact, to show up against the skyline even in this gathering gloom.

Voices, coming from the next field over, beyond the intervening hedgerow. And now the faint red glow of a cigarette end in the dark. Not Doyle, then...and not his silhouette, either; now that Bodie knew where to look, in the faint moonshine he could just pick out two forms, either of them bulkier than Doyle and the more corpulent of the two almost twice his size. Cursing the mud and the cold and his own damn foolishness for wearing a good coat--at least it was warmer than those bum-freezers Doyle favoured, mind--Bodie half-crawled his way down the far side of the gentle slope towards the hedge. The moon sailed clear of cloud for a moment--and yes, there was another shape huddled tight into the hedge on the near side, hidden from the other two men. Doyle.

Resisting the temptation to lob a clod of earth at him, Bodie lost no time in insinuating his way closer until at last he came up behind his partner, who paid him no attention other than to whisper, barely audibly, "'bout bloody time you got here". Bodie grinned and stuck two fingers up at Ray's resolutely turned back. Cheeky bastard. Still, he liked that Ray had known it was him, had known he'd get there eventually--with no message, no sign, no pointers of any kind. He moved up tight behind him and leaned in, almost brushing Ray's ear with his lips to ask what the hell they were looking at. Ray shuddered, and his voice hitched as he breathed back "Grady and McCormack". Bloody hell. These two weren't supposed to be talking to each other, let alone getting pally two nights before the meet that he and Doyle were detailed to observe. Observation only--I'll not have you going in half-cocked no matter what or who you see there--we need to know where this connection is going before we cut them off at the knees. Call themselves patriots! Cowley had been livid when the news came in from Allardyce, undercover in a sleet-lashed and gloomy Glasgow, that there were plenty of hard men up there only too happy to cozy up to the IRA, help their long-lost cousins over the water, make a little money and screw the English for a bonus. Though to hear Allardyce tell it, the worst of it was having to wear green on match-days and swear blind he was the staunchest supporter Celtic ever had--when everyone at HQ knew his heart belonged to Hearts...

Bodie felt Ray shudder again. Poor bugger must be freezing--and with his bike jacket half a field away, too. Magnanimously, Bodie braced himself against the chill, opened his coat and plastered himself up against Ray's back, wrapping the edges of the cloth as far around both of them as they would go. Ray instantly burrowed back into Bodie's warmth as much as humanly possible, shivering in earnest. A hand wormed its way back--ah, the little bastard, give 'im an inch and he'd warm his cold hands when Bodie couldn't breathe a word of protest--but Ray only squeezed Bodie's thigh once quickly in thanks and withdrew his hand again, never taking his eyes off the two men barely visible in the further field. Perversely, Bodie found himself almost wishing Ray had tried to use him as a hand-warmer--had expected it of him, after all, just as Ray would have expected-- and thoroughly enjoyed--the subsequent barrage of complaints, once they were safely out of this.

The steady murmur from beyond the hedgerow rose a little, then was silenced. Peering through the darkness, Bodie saw one figure extend something--a package, a book?--to the other, and then the two shook hands, one moving further away and vanishing against the black backdrop of the woodland two fields over, while the second figure moved purposefully towards them. Silently, Bodie prepared to flee back to the car, assuming that Doyle would head for the bike to ensure that at least one of them escaped pursuit--the better to dig the other out of trouble--but Doyle ignored the bike and legged it towards the gate where Bodie had left the car instead. Without pausing to wonder why, Bodie followed and reached the driver's side door just as Doyle half flung himself, half slid across the bonnet and frantically tried to claw the passenger side door open with hands that must still be stiff with cold. Bodie made to turn the key in the ignition as Doyle fell into his seat, but he leaned across and seized Bodie's wrist. "Leave it! He had minders waiting for 'im at the edge of the trees. If they see a car-- "

And Bodie had no time to speak, no time to question, no time to do anything but register the fact that the burly form of Jimmy McCormack was approaching the gate and that it was now flanked by three men, almost certainly armed and very certainly carrying torches. So it never occurred to him to protest, to move or breathe or do anything but wonder, briefly, if he was asleep and dreaming or concussed and hallucinating when Ray Doyle dived into his lap, unzipped him, shoved the edge of his underpants out of the way--the shock of cold fingers barely registered--and engulfed him in wet heat. When McCormack's minders shone their torches through the windows of the car, scant seconds later, his expression of complete and utter shock would have convinced an auditions panel at RADA.

Doyle, unbelievably--must be out of his mind, the pressure'd got to him, certifiable--did not relinquish Bodie's prick immediately but sucked vigorously, moving his head unmistakeably--Christ, he's done this before--for a few more seconds before reacting with well-feigned shock, glaring at the four men and then tumbling out of the car to yell at them belligerently, apparently in full expectation--he adopted a street-style, sloppy-looking defensive pose--of an attempt to attack them. McCormack burst out laughing and waved his men back, bidding the two of them good-night--gentlemen--with grating mockery; his three companions decided to take their cue from the boss and see the funny side, and all four walked on, almost collapsing with laughter, to the bend in the road not twenty yards up ahead where the sound of an engine starting and lights coming on through the densely-matted hawthorn revealed that their own car had been parked all along.

There was a long silence in the Capri. Almost absently, Bodie registered that his heartbeat was beginning to slow--there's training for you--and that he was still unzipped and exposed, with his hands cupped in front of him protectively. And that he was hard. Jesus H. fucking Christ. But his voice, when he finally spoke, sounded surprisingly normal.

"You realise this is going to be all over the Six Counties in a day or two?"

"Better than our brains all over the upholstery, mate."

Bodie risked a glance at Doyle out of the corner of his eye. Doyle was looking straight ahead, stony-faced, but somehow in the sheer relief of seeing the back of McCormack rather than the muzzle of a gun Bodie couldn't find it in himself to dredge up a matching response. His lip twitched.

"Jesus, Doyle. Nothing like warning a bloke, is there?"

Doyle risked his own glance, and found Bodie beginning to fight an attack of undignified giggles. Relieved, he allowed himself to slump back into his seat. "Warn you next time, shall I, petal?"

Bodie's laughter died still-born; just the image, the thought of having Ray's head back in his lap and that mouth, those lips, god, that tongue wrapped round him again--his cock pulsed, and his hands moved involuntarily (though whether he was trying to cover himself or give himself the touch, the pressure he so desperately wanted he couldn't have said). All the tension of a moment ago was back; Bodie knew that, god help him, for all he tried to hide it that sudden rush of desire was written all over his face. Ray took a deep breath, and reality veered sharply off course.

"Keep your eyes open for traffic."

And this time, Bodie knew, he could have said something--could have protested--could have pushed Ray away, brutally as if he were offended, or gently as if he sought not to offend--this time there were no approaching gunmen who had to be convinced that their only reason for stopping on a lonely road in the dark was for a well-dressed driver to get a bit of rough trade. But he said nothing, did nothing, let Ray move his hands away and oh, somehow his fingers tangled in Ray's hair as he bent once more to his task...and this time Ray didn't suck hard and fast, no, this time his mouth was--ah, it was soft, and subtle and unbearably good; his lips caressed, and his tongue teased its way all around, just beneath the head, and then Ray let go--he was stopping!--no, shit, not now!--but it was only to torment him further, making him startle by drawing in cooler air as his lips formed an open O around Bodie's shaft and then making him shudder again at the sudden change in temperature as he breathed out, hot, delicious, and then all at once his tongue-tip, the tiny muscle tensed and made firm, invading him, licking into the slit--Bodie couldn't restrain a gasp--and then suddenly plunging his head down as far as he could, taking Bodie in--bloody hell but he wasn't going to last long, and oh how he wanted to! Belatedly he realised he had allowed his eyes to fall closed, and forced them open again, desperately trying to focus on the world outside, protect them both from any danger of discovery should another vehicle use the road tonight--and trying, too, to make it last, oh, please let it last! But the quiet, almost imperceptible, anguished moaning he could hear was in fact, he dimly realised, his own; ah, too good, too good...and he was going, he was gone.

It took somewhat longer, this time, for Bodie's pulse and breathing to return to somewhere near normal. His hands felt leaden and useless, resting heavily on Ray's shoulders as he felt the other's fingers--no chill there now--steadily restore his clothing to its former order. There was a slight tremor in those fingers, though; Ray kept his head bowed, Bodie couldn't see his expression but the set of his shoulders was tense, and Bodie wanted that tension gone, wanted more, wanted to see Ray laugh--or maybe howl--and fly apart into a million ecstatic...

"Oi." Such eloquence. Bodie lifted a hand to Ray's face, intending to force him firmly round to meet his eye, but at the last moment he hesitated. He had this terrible urge to say, to do something full of tenderness--but Ray wasn't looking in a particularly tender mood. Looked set to start all that bloody staring out of the windscreen business again, in fact. "Let me-- " Let me take care of you. No. Sounded a sight too camelhair-coat and kipper-tie, that did. "I want-- " I want to make you feel just like that. Like I did. Like I do. His hand moved of its own volition, apparently--just as well, can't be leaving it hanging about in the air like that--and brushed Ray's cheek, and Ray turned towards him with something like pain and want and a spark of rising hope in darkened eyes; and Bodie found himself entwining the fingers of one hand in Ray's hair once more and inexorably as gravity their mouths came together, and yes, Ray was almost shivering with it, he wanted it all right, and Bodie felt a lovely, hot, driving urge to bear Ray back against the head-rest and have that gorgeous mouth again, have it with his kisses now, usurp it with his tongue, taste the irrefutable proof that Ray Doyle really had just gone down on him. And Ray's own taste, too--christ but he was delicious.

"I don't know about you, love," Bodie had Ray's mouth firmly against his own, his words muffled between kisses, "but by my reckoning a spectacular bit of nice treatment like that deserves proper appreciation. Due consideration. Reciprocation. 'n anything else you fancy."

Completely automatically, just as he'd done uncounted times before, Bodie's right hand came up as if to caress a woman's breast--and for a moment reality jarred, as his fingers found the almost equally familiar form of hard muscle instead. He startled momentarily as Ray, clearly not submitting passively to anything except perhaps his own desires, held Bodie's wrist and dragged the errant hand so that its heel rubbed firmly across his nipple, just that bit farther over and lower down than Bodie's initial aim, and Ray gasped with satisfaction, his nearer hand worming up between them and taking Bodie by the back of the neck so that he could position his head to his liking and respond with kisses as devouring as any Bodie could deal out. Bodie was enthralled. Ray was alive with it, his nerves must be humming like high tension lines if you could only hear them... He tore his hand away, ignoring a muffled sound of protest, and hauled Ray's T-shirt out of his waist-band so that he could ruck it up and dive underneath it, well he was invited, now, wasn't he; he could card his fingers through Ray's chest hair like he'd always wanted to, wondering what it would feel like, and now it was his to touch; finding that nipple again and pinching just so, just a little, hard enough but not too hard, and Ray's head went back and he moaned and squirmed restlessly and he was almost lifting off the seat, desperate for touch, and finally he begged...and Bodie wondered, can I. Ah, but this was Ray. Ray, all strung out and wanting, and he'd touched him so lovingly, that mouth so generous, so fine...and Bodie's hand held the hard bulge at the crotch of Ray's jeans, rubbed firmly, not so hard it would hurt but firmly so's it wouldn't tease, and Ray was scrabbling at the button of his jeans, "Bodie, please--" so Bodie was good at this, was going to be as good as Ray, got his flies undone and pushed his jeans open and down a bit, and there was Ray practically surging into his hand. He turned Ray a little away from him and Ray went, as if Bodie could have positioned him any way he pleased, made him do anything he wanted, and now the angle was better, it was more like doing himself, and he gripped Ray firmly, worked him steadily, relentlessly, watching his face every second, and Ray never turned his face away, never thought of it, but kept turning towards him, reaching blindly to touch Bodie with his lips, and there was nothing, nothing in the world as beautiful as Ray's face as ecstasy took him.

Bodie watched his face, too, as he came to himself, little by little, so beautiful. That mouth, lips all blooming and from more than kisses...that thought glowed warm inside Bodie, even as he wondered at himself, barely coming down from the high and already wanting more. A few moments passed, and Ray drew breath, and shivered. Bodie felt that urge to hold him close again, wrap his coat around him, keep him warm.

"I've got the fire banked up"

Ray looked a question at him.

"Back at the cottage. And before you ask, I did get a bit of food in. Nothing fancy...bread and cheese, some ham and stuff, and fruit and cake--well I didn't know if there was a cooker, did I--couple of bottles..."

Bodie wanted to bite his tongue, he was rabbiting on like a teenager and Ray--Ray looked at him almost suspiciously, and now he seemed really to take in Bodie's appearance for the first time--looked him up and down, fingered the lapel of that damn coat.

"Not your usual yomping gear, is it?"

"Didn't think I'd need that till tomorrow."

Bodie felt himself blush, and hoped the dark would hide it. Ridiculous, to have dressed like this. But the op wasn't for tonight, and he'd thought--he didn't know what he'd thought. But he'd got the food in, and not just a couple of sarnies either. Ray began to smile slightly.

"Got the fire banked up, have you?"

Bodie couldn't stop an answering smile from growing.

"There's only one bed in the cottage, you know. Hoped you wouldn't mind sharing."

"If you don't".

"Wouldn't mind sharing with you." He grew reckless. "Wouldn't mind sharing the lot with you, 's'matter of fact."

Ray's smile grew.

"Well that's handy. Seeing as what's yours is mine--right?"

All Ray's...yes. Bodie had forgotten what cold felt like. But was Ray...? Bodie looked the question at him, and was rewarded with a glow of affection in green eyes.

"All yours, mate."

Abruptly re-energised, Bodie turned the key in the ignition and Ray rubbed his hands clearly eager to get going. "Now come on and get us out of here; I'm perished and I'm starving, an' I need that fire, serious nosh and a nice warm bed, all right?"

Bodie leaned across him and opened the door, letting the cold air back in, and Ray groaned in realisation. "I'll get the fire going, but you--" Bodie grinned--"On your bike, sunshine, on your bike."

-- THE END --

April 2008

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